["The Three Vows", Act III, Scene 1: A weatherworn shrine clinging to a cliff's edge. The altar is tangled in bramble. Cold moonlight paints silver lines across the stone. The PILGRIM kneels in stillness. Enter the WITNESS, cloaked and hooded.]
PILGRIM:
O sacred hush, more cruel than storm or sword—
What trial yet remains? What stain unseen
Holds back the word I long to hear returned?
I cast away my name like brittle chaff,
Let silence fill my lungs and hunger speak.
I've bled across the teeth of stone and time,
Yet nothing answers.
WITNESS: (quietly)
And yet—thou art not unanswered.
PILGRIM: (lifting his head)
Who speaks? What shape dost wear in shadow's guise?
Art dream or warning?
WITNESS:
Neither.
Only witness.
But hear me still—thy cries were sharp with longing,
Yet longing deafens more than it compels.
The ones thou seek'st may answer not in thunder,
But in the hush that follows after clamor.
PILGRIM:
Then what is faith?
A jest? A leash? A song sung to the wind?
I held my breath for proof, and tasted ash.
WITNESS: (moves in front of the man with the cliff to his back)
Thou think'st the veil will lift for pain alone?
That aching limbs or hollow fasts shall stir
What lies beyond the veil to break their hush?
Faith is no trade. No coin. No plea for mercy.
It is the rising still—when no eyes watch,
When no voice calls, and night bears no reply.
PILGRIM:
Then am I fool,
To kneel before the silence and expect
More than the silence grants?
WITNESS:
Not fool—
But mortal.
And mortals are not meant to know.
Only to walk.
Only to endure.
[A cold wind moves through. The candle near the altar gutters and dies.]
WITNESS: (softly)
And is that not the holier vow?
To walk still, when the path grows dim?
To go on, when the world forgets your name?
PILGRIM: (long pause, then quietly)
Then I shall walk.
But not alone.
WITNESS:
Then rise.
And walk.
[The WITNESS offers their hand. The PILGRIM takes it. They step into the darkness together. Curtain.]
Rell blinked awake, the edge of sleep still drifting around her.
A pale haze of smoke drifted through the longhouse, rising from the trench hearth, its dim light barely separating shapes from shadow. She laid still for a moment, listening—to the hush of the early hour, to the distant croaking of frogs and the shrill cry of something deeper in the forest.
She pushed herself up and looked around. Through the dim light, she made out Oro's faint shape, stretched across his blanket, sleeping with the innocence of someone who still believed the world to be kind. One arm was flung over his eyes, the other lay limp at his side. His breathing was deep, mouth slightly open, his nobleman's coat folded beneath his head as a pillow.
Kai, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen.
She rose slowly, muscles stiff—the furs she'd slept on had done little to cushion against the hard floor. The dagger she'd kept close through the night lay beside her; she slid it back into its sheath with a soft rasp. The floor groaned faintly under her weight, and she froze, breath held. She tied her boots in the dim light, relying on familiarity with the motion rather than sight. With her boots firmly laced, she crossed the room cautiously, careful to avoid the worst of the creaking boards as she made her way to the door.
She brushed a hand against the frame, fingers searching for the wooden latch.
"Going somewhere?" a voice called from behind.
Rell froze.
Heavy with sleep, the voice still carried a clear edge of awareness.
She turned. Oro hadn't shifted much—still sprawled across the floor as if he belonged there—but one eye was cracked open, catching a faint glint in the low light.
"I was bein' quiet," she whispered.
Oro rubbed at his face wearily. "Apparently not quiet enough," he said. "It's barely morning."
"I noticed," she replied. "Couldn't sleep."
Oro yawned, eyes now fully open. "Strange. I'd have pegged you as a heavy sleeper—your snoring nearly sent the birds fleeing the forest."
She didn't rise to the bait. Her gaze drifted back to the empty corner where Kai had laid his things.
"Something wrong?" Oro asked.
She pressed her back to the wall, folding her arms tightly, eyes sharp as they met Oro's gaze.
"What's the deal with him?" she asked.
"With who?" Oro responded dumbly. Whether intentional or not, it grated on Rell's nerves.
"Kai." Her voice took on an annoyed lilt. "Don't play dumb. You've seen it too, haven't ya? He don't sleep. Barely eats. Yet he's up all hours o' the night, swingin' his sword 'round."
Oro rubbed the back of his neck as he sat up. "Perhaps he is simply a man of unwavering dedication. Some rise with the dawn, others spend the night honing their skill against trees. It may be that his vigor knows no bounds."
"'Cept he don't wake early—he don't sleep at all. Even the most dedicated men need rest." She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "Don't pretend ya haven't noticed. You're not as dim as ya act."
"Very well. Indeed, it has not escaped my attention." Oro grunted.
"Then why ain't ya worried?" she pressed. "He's pale as bone, hair white as salt, carries that strange black sword like it's part o' him. And have ya looked at his eyes, Oro? Really looked?"
A heavy pause hung between them.
Oro said nothing.
Rell glared down at him. "You act like ya don't care—like ya don't see what's really happenin'. You trail after Kai like this is some grand adventure, like you're just a kid chasin' stories. But he ain't wanderin', Oro. He's huntin' somethin'. Or runnin' from it."
Her voice dropped, bitter and low. "Brelith burned to the ground overnight. Ya said the two of ya got separated. How much do ya really know 'bout Kai? What part did he play in that ruin?"
Oro's eyes darkened, but he shook his head firmly. "Kai bears no part in that matter."
"How can ya be so sure?" Rell pressed, her voice sharp. "You weren't with him. How can ya be so certain?"
Oro met her gaze steadily. "Because such deeds lie far beyond the bounds of his nature."
Rell snorted, unable to hide her scorn. "You really believe that? Ya take one look at someone with white hair and a sword black as night and decide, 'He's good'? That's foolish."
"He is good," Oro insisted.
Rell scoffed. "You sound like ya convinced yourself. How can ya be so certain 'bout someone who don't obey the rules o' a mortal—who pushes beyond what any human should naturally endure?"
Oro's jaw tightened, a flicker of anger flashing behind his eyes. "I have known him but a few weeks—scant time, to be sure—yet long enough to discern what truly matters."
Rell pushed off the wall, voice rising. "And that's s'posed to be enough? Trust without question? You're an idiot." She shook her head, bitterness curling her lips. "I'm not about to take the word o' a nobleman on character—least o' all someone like Kai."
She spun away, her cloak swirling behind her.
Oro's voice cut through the quiet. "How arduous must it be, to live as you do—constantly vigilant and ever wary. Tell me, do you place your trust in anyone at all?"
Rell paused, the cold silence stretching between them. Grateful she was looking away, which concealed how much the question had unsettled her.
"Trust?" Her voice echoed faintly across the empty room. "I trust no one—not easily, and not without cause." She lowered her eyes, struck by the hollow echo of her own words.
"And yet, here you stand," he said quietly. "Clinging to the company of strangers. Why? What compels you to expose yourself to such peril?"
Rell hesitated, her fingers tightening around the worn fabric of her cloak. "Sometimes survival means makin' uncomfortable alliances. Sometimes, ya need others—even if ya don't trust 'em."
Inside, a sharp ache tugged at her—loneliness. The void left by Kempford's death and the empty spaces where her people had once been weighed heavy on her heart. She hesitated for a moment before pushing the feeling deep.
Oro stood fully now, his voice soft but certain. "I understand the weight of solitude all too well—going too long without a single soul to lean on. It gnaws at the spirit far deeper than any physical wound. To shut yourself away from others only invites greater misery."
Rell snapped back, turning on him with a fierce glare. "You don't know nothin' 'bout me—or what it's like livin' as one o' the common folk. Don't go actin' like ya do, sittin' there safe in yer noble's chair." She stood straighter, as if putting up a wall between them. "I'm not the sort who lets others in. It ain't no weakness—it's survival."
Oro's met her gaze steadily, unshaken by the outburst. "Perhaps not." He paused, then added quietly, "You spoke of Kai's eyes before—I see that very same resolve in you. Both of you pursue something elusive, though what it is, I cannot say. Whatever the weight, the heavier the burden grows, the more unbearable it becomes to bear it alone."
She shook her head. "Maybe that's yer truth. Don't mean it's mine."
"I got me reasons. You won't understand 'em, and I don't owe ya no explanation." Her voice firm, as she drummed her fingers against her side, in tune with her restless nerves.
Oro let the silence hang, patiently waiting.
Rell scowled. "Leave me to me affairs. I don't plan on bein' your friend—or Kai's." Her voice was edged with bitterness, but it lingered in her own throat more than the air between them. "Once we pass through the woods, I'm goin' back to doin' things on my own. Don't need the company."
She turned toward the door, fingers grasping the latch. Before stepping out, she cast one last glance over her shoulder. "Kai's probably the same. What'll ya do when he leaves ya stranded in the middle o' nowhere?"she spat, the words laced with venom.
"He would never stoop to that. He is my friend," Oro said. But Rell caught the thin edge in his voice, the way the words lacked the weight of certainty.
Rell stepped into the fading darkness of night without a word. The door shut softly behind her, its faint click echoing through the longhouse like a final breath, leaving Oro alone with his thoughts.